


beneath the sands

by baudelaires



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 1920s, Courf and Enj are cousins in this, Egyptologist AU, Enj as Evy, M/M, Period-Typical Slang, R as O'Connell, Slow Burn, Slurs, The Mummy (1999) AU, The Mummy (1999) fusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:32:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baudelaires/pseuds/baudelaires
Summary: CAIRO, 1926Adventurer Rick Grantaire travels to the lost city of Hamunaptra with Evan Enjolras, an Egyptologist. But the City of the Dead holds more than just treasure - when they accidentally unleash the curse of Imhotep, they become caught in a race against time to stop the undead high priest from plaguing all of Egypt. (And they may even find each other along the way.)





	beneath the sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You were actually at Hamunaptra?"
> 
> "Oh, yeah, I was there," the dark-haired man replies.
> 
> "Could you, possibly, tell me how to get there?” Enjolras asks, leaning even closer to the bars. 
> 
> “You wanna know?” the man asks, face growing suddenly serious. 
> 
> Enj nods, excitement curling in his stomach. “Yes, I do.” 
> 
> “You really wanna know?” 
> 
> Breathless, Enj nods. He leans close enough that their faces are level. The man gestures for him to come even closer, so he does. Their faces are mere inches apart. Then, a rough hand seizes him by the chin and hot, dry lips are pressed forcefully against his. 
> 
> “Then get me the hell out of here!”

**_ENJOLRAS_ **

 

 

It’s dark and damp in the basement of Cairo’s Museum of Antiquities. Glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose, Enjolras works by the light of a flickering candle, attempting to decipher the hieroglyphics carved into the side of an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus. The only sound is the scratch of his pencil against paper as he scribbles down his translations. 

 

“Here...lies…” he mutters to himself, pencil racing furiously across the page as his hand tries to keep up with his brain. “And that’s Horus...no...not Horus...Ra?” 

 

A clatter from deeper inside the basement storage room startles him out of his thoughts. “Hello?” he calls tentatively. “Anyone there?” There’s no response. Seizing a torch from a bracket on the wall, he steps further into the room. “Hello?” he calls again. 

 

Suddenly, a skeletal face leaps up in front of him, emerging from another sarcophagus. Enjolras screams, free hand flying to his face. 

 

Laughter echoes out from the sarcophagus, and a dark haired head emerges beside the bony one of the mummy’s. 

 

“Courfeyrac!” Enj exclaims, reaching out to slap his cousin on the shoulder. “Have you no respect for the dead?” 

 

“Why yes, I do.” Courfeyrac says easily, sitting up and slinging his arm over the side of the stone coffin. “In fact, I’d love to join them someday.” 

 

“Well, I wish you would - sooner rather than later - before you cost me my job!” Enjolras hisses, helping his cousin out of the sarcophagus. 

 

“Nonsense, Ev, you’re the finest Egyptologist this museum has ever seen.” Courf says, throwing his arm around Enjolras’ shoulders. 

 

Enjolras snorts. “Tell that to the Paris scholars. They’ve rejected my application. Again.” 

 

“Aw, Ev, I’m sorry. They don’t know what they’re missing.” Courf says, patting Enj’s shoulder comfortingly. “Actually, that’s what I’m here about. I have something I think you’ll like.” 

 

“Oh? Why do I have the feeling I won’t like whatever it is very much at all?” Enj replies drily. 

 

Courf laughs. “No, no, I promise. This you’ll like.” From his pocket he pulls a small black box, hexagonal in shape, and hands it to Enjolras ceremoniously. “Ta-da!” 

 

“What...is it?” Enj asks, running his fingers over the surface of the box. There are faded hieroglyphs around the edges, but he can’t decipher them in the dim light. 

 

“No idea. That’s why I brought it to you.” Courf says. “So? What do you think it is?” 

 

“It’s some kind of...puzzle box…” Enjolras says, half to himself, probing the corners with his fingers. There are grooves along the top, and what feel almost like hinges. 

 

“Courf, where did you get this?” he asks, looking curiously up at his cousin.

 

“Oh, just on a dig down in Thebes.” Courf says nonchalantly. 

 

There are two markings on the sides that are carved deeper than the others. “I think,” Enj mutters, pressing his fingers against the two markings. “It’s meant to-“ The box pops open. “To open!” he finishes triumphantly. 

 

“Amazing!” Courf exclaims, leaning closer. “There’s something inside!” 

 

Enj pulls it out. It’s a folded piece of parchment, thin and ancient. Carefully, he unfolds it. “It’s a map…” he says, peering at it through his glasses. 

 

He gasps softly. “Courfeyrac. Oh, my God.” 

 

“What? What is it?” 

 

Enjolras looks at his cousin with wide eyes. “This map. It leads to Hamunaptra.” 

**𓁁𓀁𓀊**

“See the royal seal in the corner? It’s the official seal of Seti the First.” Enjolras points out, watching with bated breath as Monsieur Madeleine, the museum’s director, examines the map. It’s much brighter in his office than it was down in the basement storage room, with sunlight and warm air flowing in through the open windows. 

 

“I have a question,” Courf asks from his position in the armchair by the fireplace. His hand is raised lazily in the air like an uncaring high schooler. Enj sighs. “Yes, Courfeyrac?” 

 

“This Seti the First, was he rich?” 

 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “He was the second Pharaoh of the 19th dynasty, one of the wealthiest of them all.”

 

Courf looks satisfied. “Good. I like this Seti fellow. I like him very much.” 

 

“And Monsieur Madeleine, if you look at the hieratic just there...it’s Hamunaptra.” Enjolras says eagerly. Madeleine peers at the map. “Don’t be silly.” he says. “We’re scholars, not treasure hunters! Hamunaptra is a myth!” 

 

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard all the nonsense about the curse of a mummy,” Enjolras says. “But my research has led me to believe that the City of the Dead actually exists.” 

 

Courf’s eyes light up. “ _ The _ City of the Dead? Where the earliest Pharaohs were said to have hidden the wealth of Egypt?”

 

“Yes, yes, we all know the stories.” Madeleine says, waving the map with one hand. “Oh my goodness!” He exclaims, dropping it suddenly. Enjolras looks and sees the corner has caught fire, presumably from one of the oil lamps on Madeleine’s desk. 

 

“No!” he cries, falling upon the map and patting out the flames. “You’ve burnt it! You’ve burned off the part with the lost city!” 

 

Madeleine clicks his tongue. “Probably for the best, I’m sure. Many men have wasted their lives in pursuit of Hamunaptra. You would be wise not to waste yours.” 

 

Outside, Enjolras walks with Courfeyrac back to his apartment. “Unbelievable! Our one and only chance to find Hamunaptra and the old fool burnt it!” He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. “That could have been my chance to finally show the Paris Scholars--”

 

“Ev,” Courf says slowly. “That...that wasn’t our only chance.”

 

Enjolras stops in his tracks. “What do you mean?”

 

Courf fidgets nervously. “Well, the fellow I got the box from...he said he’d been there. To Hamunaptra.”

 

“You told me you got the box at a dig in Thebes.” Enjolras glares at his cousin. 

 

“Yes, well, it was more like a bar. In Giza.” Courf admits, shrugging sheepishly.

 

“Courfeyrac,” Enj says warningly.

 

“And I might have stolen it. Pick-pocketed, really.” Courf continues with a wince. Enjolras shoves him. "Unbelievable!" he exclaims furiously. 

 

Courf swats him away. “But! But! My point is, if we can find the fellow I pinched it from, he might just lead us to the lost city.” He shoots Enjolrasa hopeful grin.

 

Enj is not so easily swayed. “Hmph.” he grunts. “Well, good luck finding him when you don’t even have a name.”

 

“Oh, no, but I don’t need a name. I know exactly where he is.” Courf says confidently.

 

"And where might that be?" Enjolras demands, eyebrows raised. 

 

“Cairo Prison.”

 

They travel to the prison that very afternoon, the warden greeting them eagerly at the gates.

 

“Welcome!” he exclaims, gesturing them inside. He’s a short, stout man, rat-faced and bearded. Enj dislikes him immediately.

 

As they follow the warden across the yard, Enj peppers him with questions. “What exactly is this man in prison for?” The warden turns to him with a wry grin, stopping them in front of an empty cell. “I do not know. I have asked him that myself, and he said,” The warden pauses to bang his baton against a set of prison bars with a resounding  _ clang.  _ “He was just looking for a good time.”

 

Two guards burst into the cell, dragging a man between them. He shoves them both off and comes up to cling to the bars, peering out at them with wild eyes. 

 

The man is filthy, dark curls hanging long and tangled around his face. His eyes are wild and his teeth are bared. “Who are you?” he asks, jerking his stubbled chin at Courfeyrac. “And who’s the fairy?” 

 

Enjolras sputters. “Excuse me?” 

 

Courf nudges him. “Ask him about the box,” he hisses into Enj’s ear. 

 

Tentatively, Enjolras steps closer to the bars. The man watches him with steely eyes. “Um, hello. We, uh, we found your puzzle box,” he says quietly, eyes darting to the warden, who is busy shouting at a pair of scuffling prisoners across the yard. “And we came to ask you about it.” 

 

The man shakes his head. “No,” he says flatly. 

 

“No?” Enjolras repeats, taken aback. 

 

“You came to ask me about Hamunaptra,” the man says. 

 

Enjolras can’t stop the sharp intake of breath he makes at the name. “How-how do you know about Hamunaptra?” 

 

“Because that’s where I was when I found the box. I was there.” The man looks dead serious, but Courf isn’t convinced. 

 

“How do we know you aren’t lying?” he asks, stepping closer to the bars, leaning in so his face is level with the man’s. 

 

“Do I know you?” the man asks instead. 

 

Courf’s eyes betray a flash of panic for a second before he says, “No, no, I’ve just got one of those—“ He’s cut off when the man’s fist connects swiftly and sharply with his face. Courf falls backward, landing sprawled on his ass in the dust. 

 

“Faces.” Courf groans. Enj ignores him and steps up to the bars. “You were actually at Hamunaptra?” he asks in earnest. The man grins. “Yeah, I was there.” 

 

“You swear?” Enjolras presses.

 

The man, grin widening, nods. “Seti’s Place? City of the Dead? Oh, yeah. I was  _ there _ .” 

 

“Could you, possibly, tell me how to get there?” Enjolras asks, leaning even closer. 

 

“You wanna know?” the man asks, face growing suddenly serious. 

 

Enj nods, excitement curling in his stomach. “Yes, I do.” 

 

“You really wanna know?” 

 

Breathless, Enj nods. He leans close enough that their faces are level. The man gestures for him to come even closer, so he does. Their faces are mere inches apart. Then, a rough hand seizes him by the chin and hot, dry lips are pressed forcefully against his. 

 

“Then get me the hell out of here!” the man hisses, as Enjolras jerks out of his grip. The guards step forward and wrestle the man away from the bars, the chains around his wrists and ankles clattering as they drag him back inside the prison. 

 

“Where...where are they taking him?” Enjolras asks, watching open-mouthed as the door slams shut behind the three struggling men. 

 

“To be hanged.” the warden says matter-of-factly. “Apparently, he had a very good time.” 

 

The warden invites them to watch the hanging, and panic clenches tightly in Enj’s chest as the dark-haired man is brought up to the gallows. 

 

“I’ll give you one hundred pounds to save this man’s life.” he says to the warden. 

 

“Good sir, I would pay one hundred pounds to watch him die,” the warden says, unwavering. 

 

“Three hundred pounds.” Enj offers. The warden falters, his gaze leaving the gallows and flicking to Enj. 

 

“And what else? I am a very lonely man.” He looks Enj up and down, reaching out to run a hand over Enj’s knee. Enj slaps him away. Disgusted, he turns back to the scene unfolding before them. The executioner is fitting the noose around the dark-haired man’s neck. 

 

“Any last requests?” the warden calls out. 

 

“Yeah. Loosen the knot and let me go,” the man shouts back. The warden laughs, and at his signal, the executioner delivers a savage kick to the crate the man is standing on, knocking it out from under his feet. Enj cries out as the man falls, legs kicking jerkily as he dangles in the air. 

 

The warden makes a disappointed sound. “Ah! His neck did not break. Now we must watch him strangle to death.” 

 

Enj’s heart is racing. “Five hundred pounds.” 

 

“Ten.” The warden counters.

 

Enjolras shakes his head. “Nine.”

 

“Eleven.”

 

“ _ Nine _ .” Enjolras repeats firmly.

 

The warden relents. “Cut him down!” he commands. The rope is cut and the man falls, purple in the face but thankfully, alive. Enjolras heaves a relieved sigh. 

**𓁁𓀁𓀊**

They charter a riverboat to take them down the Nile, and they agree to meet the man from the prison, who they learn is named Grantaire, a captain of the French Foreign Legion, at the docks.

 

“Do you really think he’s going to show up?” Enjolras asks worriedly, chewing his lip. He's dressed for travel, in light linen to beat the sweltering Egypt heat, his hair pulled up off his neck with a length of black ribbon.

 

Courf claps him on the shoulder. “Undoubtedly. I know his type, he’s a man of his word.” 

 

Enj makes a disbelieving noise. “Personally, I think he’s loathsome, rude, not to mention a complete scoundrel—“

 

A voice behind them interrupts him. “Anyone I know?” Enj turns, caught off guard, and barely stops himself from staring slack-jawed at the man in front of him. It’s the same man from the prison, only his long, matted hair has been cut into a set of neat, contained dark curls. He’s clean-shaved, dressed in fresh clothes, and a cocksure grin lights his face. 

 

“Grantaire!” Courf greets. “Excellent day for the start of an adventure, isn’t it?” He shakes Grantaire’s hand enthusiastically. Grantaire pulls his hand away, grimacing. “Yeah, yeah, just great. Listen, no hard feelings about the…” he gestures to Courf’s face, where a black eye blooms purplish-blue in the noon sunlight. 

 

“Oh, no, no, happens all the time.” Courf says with a good-natured laugh. 

 

Enjolras seizes a handful of Grantaire’s shirt and pulls him close. “Listen, Grantaire, I’m warning you, if this turns out to be some kind of a-of a sham, I’ll—“ 

 

“ _ You’re _ warning  _ me _ ?” Grantaire asks sceptically. “Pal, my unit marched halfway across Libya and then Egypt to find that city they believed in it so damn much. When we got there, all we found was sand and blood.” His green eyes are full of fire as he pushes Enjolras off of him, then stalks away toward the waiting ship. Enj watches his receding back as he walks away. 

 

“Yes, you’re right, complete scoundrel, nothing to like there at all,” Courf whispers. Enj slaps his chest with the back of one gloved hand. 

 

“Shut up.” Enj says, and he sets off up the gangplank. 


End file.
